By Arthur Vidro

Whenever I hear a reference to “print newspapers,” I cringe. I hate it. Growing up, we just called them “newspapers.”

Newspapers once played a huge role in society, even drawing kids into the workforce. 

In the 1970s, I had a small role in the newspaper world—I was a substitute paper boy at age 10 for the two daily newspapers covering our neighborhood. When the regular boy was sick, on vacation, or even once injured, I’d take over his route.

My job included collecting subscription money door to door, keeping records of how much each subscriber owed, making change and pocketing tips. That routine taught kids fiscal responsibility and social skills long before debit cards and Venmo. It was training for balancing a checkbook, managing a budget and learning time management. I wonder how many kids learn those skills today.

It was a different world back then. Adults did not drive around in cars tossing plastic-wrapped papers into snowbanks or onto rain-drenched lawns. We kids put each paper exactly where the customer wanted it: sandwiched between the screen door and the front door, under the mat, even in a milk box on the porch. 

If a customer would be away and didn’t want papers to pile up, they would tell us face to face and we would hold back their papers until they returned. Try asking for such personalized service today! 

Both the dailies were afternoon papers, delivered after school. Sunday editions, which included the funnies, arrived in pieces during the week, and on Sunday morning we’d assemble and deliver them. 

The newspapers cost 10 cents and 5 cents. I never had to sell papers, but earlier generations did. Kids stood on corners hawking headlines, just like in the movies. 

I didn’t know my Uncle Nat had been one of them until I drove him and my aunt to a doctor’s appointment when he was in his 80s. His memory was slipping, but in the waiting room he pointed to a photo in a magazine of a boy selling papers in the 1930s. 

“I did that!” he said. 

I had never heard of my uncle’s newspaper-selling days. I wasn’t sure he was remembering correctly. But my aunt confirmed he had sold papers on the Coney Island boardwalk in Brooklyn to help the family.

Back then, New York had at least seven daily papers—the Times, the Daily News, the Post, the Herald-Tribune, the Sun, the World-Telegram and the Brooklyn Eagle. 

Every city had more than one, often with morning, afternoon and evening editions. Along with radio, that’s how people got their news. 

That picture of a kid selling newspapers brought my real uncle to the surface, instead of the confused old man who had taken his place that day.

Today, the face-to-face element of newspaper sales and delivery is gone. Subscribers pay by credit card or check. Routes are driven, not walked. Kids no longer learn responsibility from handling money, managing time or interacting with adults at their door. Parents might even be reported for letting their children do what we did without supervision. Nowadays, my uncle’s parents might have been arrested for leaving him alone on the street to sell newspapers. 

We were responsible—or we didn’t last long. 

Do kids today even read newspapers? We did. We even pressed Silly Putty onto the Sunday funnies to copy the cartoons.

Perhaps someday nobody will read real newspapers anymore, and they will cease being published. When that day comes, if I am still around (and I’m not sure I’d want to be), I will mourn. ν